


Amatus

by Zethsaire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life, Surgery, Transgender Lavellan, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/pseuds/Zethsaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor really wants to get to know Dorian in a more primal way.  The problem is he's not quite sure how to let Dorian know he's – well, he doesn't know the Tevene word for it, but Iron Bull calls it Aqun-Athlok.  He's worried this will cause problems pursuing a sexual relationship with Dorian.</p>
<p>Little does he know, Dorian will have a solution for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amatus

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, there are a million fics titled Amatus. I don't care.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of potions going horribly wrong, and period typical surgery. Also mentions of transphobia, not shared by any of the characters in this fic. And a bunch of stuff about elves I made up. Minor spoilers for DA:I, but relatively spoiler-light, considering. Minor warning for Dorian's alcohol problem.

“I'm Aqun-Athlok,” Mahanon blurted, before Dorian could even take off his shirt.

“What?”

“It means 'born as one gender but living as another,' or something like that. Iron Bull was talking about it. I know the word in Elven but I've never -”

“I know what it means,” Dorian said gently, sitting down on the bed next to Mahanon, his fingers leaving his laces and coming to rest on Mahanon's knee. “You just surprised me, that's all. Blurting it out like that. In Tevinter we – well, we go about it differently.”

“Hide it, you mean,” Mahanon said bitterly.

Dorian hesitated, then sighed, “not everyone does.”

“I suppose that means you don't want to...”

“Are all Dalish this jumpy? I came up here to have sex with you, and I'd like to continue, if you're still up for it.”

“But I don't have -”

Dorian silenced him with a kiss. “You're not the first lover I've had who wasn't born a man. There are lots of ways to have sex, you know.”

Mahanon blushed. “I don't, actually. I've only done it twice.”

_That_ seemed to genuinely surprise Dorian. “Really? Well then, I suppose we'll benefit from my experience. Are you nervous?”

Dorian's breath was hot in his ear. “A little.”

“Don't be. I give _very_ good directions.”

After that there wasn't much in the way of talking, besides Dorian's gentle purr in his ear, telling Mahanon how to use his fingers and tongue. He showed just as much as he told, using his own tongue on Mahanon in a way he'd never experienced before. It was good – better than Mahanon had been expecting, better than he knew it could be. Dorian didn't insist on fucking him, on treating him like a woman once his clothes were off. Of course that could have had something to do with the fact that Dorian preferred men, but it still hadn't been something Mahanon had experienced before. Sex had been painful and a little frightening, or something done under his bedroll in the dead of night when he was too worked up not to.

Sex with Dorian wasn't anything like that.

They fell asleep together, afterwords, though Mahanon hadn't expected Dorian to stay. He was pleased about it, of course, but Dorian seemed so skittish about allowing it to be something more that just sex. Mahanon's confession seemed to have sparked something within him though, because he was gentle and more open than he usually was. He looked so young, sleeping next to Mahanon, and the elf wondered if he was older than his lover or not. Though Mahanon himself was turning thirty three that year, so it was entirely possible. Mostly Dorian looked younger while asleep because he lost the weight of his people he seemed to carry around on his shoulders. Mahanon knew a little of that, himself. Regardless, Mahanon loved him, and was glad he'd stayed.

xxx

Dorian didn't wake the next morning until well after Mahanon had risen, completed all his stretches, and was mixing together his morning potion. Perhaps it was the smell of ingredients brewing that woke him, because Dorian's sleepy voice carried across his quarters just as Mahanon was dropping the last leaf of elfroot into the mixture.

“What are you making?”

Mahanon considered lying, for a brief moment, but that was silly, in light of what they'd done the night before. “A potion to help – ah, to make me more masculine.”

He was afraid Dorian would laugh at him, but instead, he seemed genuinely interested. “Really? I've never heard of such a thing.”

“What do the men you've known do, then? Use magic?”

“Some of them. Most of them bind their breasts and use a variety of powders to shape the face, take lessons on how to deepen their voices, that sort of thing. Of course, a lot of them only dress as

men when they're seeking the sort of company I used to be interested in.”

“That sounds dreadful.”

Dorian shrugged. “I couldn't say, never having had to do it myself. I imagine having to hide who they truly were grated more.”

Mahanon turned off the heat and set the potion aside to cool, before turning back to Dorian. He'd fallen asleep naked, and unlike Mahanon, who'd put on Dorian's shirt when he got up to make his potion, Dorian hadn't even tried to put anything on. He'd just propped himself up on his elbows to watch Mahanon brew, the blankets pooling around his hips, his chest practically glistening in the morning sun. Mahanon wondered if he actually oiled it.

“Mmm. I'm not so sure about the coloring, but I do like you in my clothes,” he said huskily, making no attempt to hide how his gaze swept over Mahanon's body.

“I'd put you in one of mine, but I don't think it'd fit your shoulders.”

He must not have hid the wistful sound of his voice, because Dorian shook his head. “I like your shoulders. I like how slim you are.”

Dorian pulled Mahanon onto the bed on top of him, and gripped Mahanon's hips, pulling him down for a deep kiss. “I've had elven lovers before. You're very close in structure to how they were. Broad shoulders wouldn't suit you.”

It was hard to think when Dorian was touching him, but Mahanon managed to say, “That's what the potion does. It changes the body. I won't ever have facial hair, but neither do the other males in my clan. And the potion cannot grow what is not there, but it keeps my hips from spreading, my breasts from growing. I've been taking it for most of my life.”

“That's fascinating,” Dorian said, all while pulling his shirt up and off Mahanon. “You'll have to tell me more about it, when I'm done admiring its effects.” He swept his tongue across one of Mahanon's nipples, and Mahanon shuddered.

By the time Dorian let Mahanon back out of bed, his potion had chilled considerably and started to congeal, so Mahanon had to make it all over again. It was worth it.

xxx

“I have a present for you, _amatus_.”

“It's not even my naming day.”

Dorian smiled, and kissed him softly, pulling Mahanon into the more private space of his library alcove. Mahanon went greedily, loving the feel of Dorian's hands on him. He never got tired of this, no matter how many times they kissed. Dorian was witty and charming and always ready to fuck. In contrast, Dorian often felt self-conscious about expressing affection outside of their private quarters. Mahanon wasn't sure if it was a cultural thing, or if it had something to do with the way Dorian himself had been raised. He respected his lover's wishes though, limiting their public touches to a hand on the shoulder or sometimes the waist unless Dorian initiated it.

“I do love the way you fit between my hands,” Dorian smirked, “but I'm getting distracted. I bought you a gift. We should go to your quarters so you can open it.”

“It's that kind of present, is it?” Mahanon teased.

“You'll just have to go see, won't you?”

Dorian was in a very good mood, because instead of pulling away and walking calmly beside Mahanon, he couldn't keep his hands off him, grinning and whispering in Mahanon's ear, his hands never straying far from Mahanon's hips, his fingers sliding up under Mahanon's shirt. The days of beige under armor were long past, since Dorian had had words with the castle's seamstress and piles of clothing had started appearing in Mahanon's room whenever he came back from an excursion out of the castle.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Dorian stopped even trying to pretend he wasn't aroused and pressed their bodies together, one hand going up underneath Mahanon's shirt to fondle his breasts, and the other down his trousers. “I've been thinking about this since I ordered your gift.”

“Are we going to have sex or am I opening my present?”

“ _ **Both,**_ ” Dorian moaned.

“I _knew_ it.”

Mahanon practically hauled Dorian across the room to the bed where a brightly wrapped package lay. Dorian worked on the laces of his shirt while he opened it, making the whole process a great deal more difficult than it needed to be. The box was filled with golden straw, and nestled within it was a beautifully crafted glass – well, Mahanon wasn't sure what it was, exactly. It was phallus shaped but there were leather straps inside the box along with it.

“What...what is it? I mean, I know what it _is_ , but how does it work? Where did you even get it?”

“I've a friend in Minratheous who makes the most _amazing_ things with glass,” Dorian explained, mouthing a path across Mahanon's neck. “As for how it works – well, why don't I show you?”

“I think I'd like that.”

So he did.

 

 

Part 2

Mahanon hurled the last of his breakfast into the privy bucket and sat back with a groan. He'd had a stomach bug for weeks; hadn't been able to shake it no matter what he did. It wasn't like the Inquisition could wait for him to get over the mild sickness, so he'd been pushing through the nausea. Only Dorian had an inkling of just how ill he was, and continued to bring him tea and leavened bread cakes, which were about the only things he could keep down. He'd lost weight, and Dorian was worried; Mahanon could see it in his eyes.

He hadn't actually said anything aloud about it until today. “Mahanon, we need to talk.” He waved his hand and banished the contents of the bucket, and then set down a pot of hot water and a mug of tea in front of Mahanon. Mint; Mahanon sniffed it gratefully, feeling his stomach grumble in complaint before settling.

“What, exactly, do you want to discuss?” Mahanon asked, knowing full well what Dorian wanted, but playing the fool. He had gotten quite good at that over the last several months.

“I think you should – I. _Venhedis,_ there's no polite way to say this, Mahanon. Maker knows, I've tried to think of one.”

“Just out with it then,” Mahanon snapped, his mood as bitter as his tea, this morning.

“I think you might be pregnant.”

Mahanon swallowed his tea all at once, feeling the sharp burn in his throat as it worked its way down. “ _What._ ”

“I know it was only once, and we were careful, but you've been nauseous and irritable. And you haven't had – well, you know.”

Mahanon thought he'd hidden the lack of his monthly bleed from Dorian, but apparently he wasn't at all as clever as he'd thought. And he _had_ been irritable, but Dorian would be too, if he lost his lunch at the slightest provocation. “I'm _not_ pregnant.”

“But what if you are?”

Mahanon set his tea down, and put his head in his hands. “I don't know, Dorian. I don't know.”

“I could -” Dorian wiggled his fingers.

Mahanon looked at him flatly. “If you're really that worried, I can go ask Solas. I'd rather have someone who wasn't _involved_.”

Dorian didn't look very happy about that, but he sighed. “Alright. Do you mind if I accompany you?”

“Not at all. But don't blame me if Solas sets you on fire.”

Dorian's mouth twisted into a half smile, half grimace. “I'd better cast a barrier before hand then.”

“Well do it now, because we're going.”

“So soon?”

“I want to get this over with.”

“Fair enough.”

They ventured down to Solas' study together, where the mage was bent over some old tome, frowning. He looked up at their approach with a soft smile for Mahanon, which flattened into a displeased line when he saw Dorian. Mahanon could only imagine how much worse it would be if Dorian _had_ gotten him with child. Being set on fire would probably be the least of Dorian's worries.

“How may I be of service, da'len?”

“I was wondering if...” Mahanon glanced around, frowning at the way sound always seemed to carry from Solas' study. “If Dorian and I could speak to you privately? In my quarters, perhaps?”

Solas' frown deepened. “I will, of course, do whatever I can to help. I take it you will explain?”

Mahanon nodded. “But not here.”

Solas was silent the entire way to Mahanon's quarters. Mahanon was worried about what the other elf was thinking, worried about what would happen to Dorian, worried about whether what his lover suspected was true. He didn't know what he'd do if it was true. It was _one_ _time_. The chances of an elf conceiving in any case were abysmally low, even less with a human, and even _more_ unlikely with the potion Mahanon took daily. And yet, it was possible. Dorian seemed to sense his dark thoughts, and grasped his hand tightly, but said nothing.

Dorian was the one to shut the door to Mahanon's quarters, letting Solas and Mahanon into the room ahead of him. He was being supportive, but also clearly trying to give Mahanon space. Which left explaining the situation to Mahanon. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or angry at Dorian for that.

“What is the matter, _da'len_?”

“Have you ever...had experience with birth, Solas?” Mahanon asked carefully.

Solas' eyes narrowed. “I have helped forest creatures through a particular difficult birth, yes. Why do you ask?”

“...if I were pregnant, would you know?”

Solas immediately turned to Dorian, face full of rage. “What did you _do._ ”

Dorian put his hands up quickly. “It was consensual! I swear!”

“It was, Solas,” Mahanon said tiredly.

“You should _know_ better. You are not built to carry a child.”

“I know. Could you possibly see if I am even carrying one, before you yell at me?”

“Very well.” Solas practically pushed Mahanon into a chair, propped his staff on the table, and pressed his hands against Mahanon's abdomen. His hands glowed green, and Mahanon felt the world drop out from underneath him.

When he came back to awareness, Dorian and Solas were both looking at him. Dorian looked worried, but Solas was definitely angry. “What – how long was I out for?”

“About fifteen minutes.” Dorian said.

“Am I?”

“No.” Solas said sharply, “but that does not make me less angry with you. How long have you been taking _banal asha_ , Mahanon?”

Under Solas' angry gaze, Mahanon felt ashamed, even though he'd never felt shame in his morning ritual before. “Since I was twelve.”

“And how long ago was that, exactly,” his voice was flat and cold, making Mahanon feel like the child that Solas often named him.

“Twenty years,” Mahanon muttered.

Solas abruptly lost his temper, and began lecturing Mahanon in a stream of angry Elvish. He knew so many Elvish words, not stopping once to replace any with the common tongue, and his words were quick and angry. He was worried, Mahanon could tell; it was driving his anger.

“That potion was meant as a short term solution, to carry a young one through puberty! It is not meant to be imbibed for a period of longer than five years. I knew the Dalish had forgot much, but if your Keeper knew how to brew the _banal asha_ then she should have remembered its warnings!”

“...so the potion is making Mahanon ill?” Dorian asked carefully, when Mahanon had translated the gist of what Solas had said to his lover. Minus, of course, a good deal of the profanities.

“It is _killing_ him.”

Mahanon gripped Dorian's hand tightly, the blood draining from his face. “What do you mean?”

“Those ingredients, in that concentration, over such a period of length; you may as well be drinking poison. Why did your Keeper not show you how to make _vhenan'ara_?”

“...I've never heard of that,” Mahanon whispered, “I think...I think she hoped I would lose interest in being male. That I would come to my senses, stop taking it, and bear children for the clan.”

That made Solas even more angry, if possible. “That is _not_ how it works,” he continued swearing in Elvish for quite some time. Mahanon did not translate his words, but Dorian seemed to understand well enough.

“So what do we do?”

“First of all,” Solas rounded on Mahanon, “he will not be drinking another _drop_ of that potion. He will also be going back to bed. And _staying_ there until I say otherwise. Bring him tea, and broth, and make him sleep. I need to confer with an alchemist.” And then he stormed off in a flourish of robes and Elvish rage.

Mahanon let Dorian pull him to bed, where he lay there under the blankets, shaking. Dorian brought him tea and broth which he very much did not want to drink but did anyway, and then crawled into bed behind him. Mahanon let Dorian pull him into his chest, and he cried.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean to weep. I'm just so scared.”

“I know, _amatus_. It will be alright.”

Mahanon knew it might not be, but he let the lie be, and took what comfort he could in Dorian's presence. Before long he felt his eyelids closing. “You drugged my tea.”

“Only a little. Get some sleep.”

“We're...going to have...words, later.” He said slowly, and dropped off to Dorian stroking his hair and murmuring nonsense in Tevene.

xxx

He woke up to Solas pouring a foul tasting potion down his throat. “This will make you very ill, but it will also save your life. We will talk after you are done purging the poison from your body.”

“Purging” meant throwing up for six hours, apparently. Mahanon wasn't sure how vomiting was going to help him with a poison that made him vomit, but he did actually feel quite a bit better when his stomach finally settled. He was exhausted and feverish, but better. It was hard to explain, and just made Dorian shake his head when Mahanon tried, and dab at his face with a damp cloth.

After that, he slept again. Mahanon hadn't slept so long since he'd become the figurehead of the Inquisition. Solas was there when he woke up, and Dorian was not. “I sent your lover away to his own quarters to get some rest.”

“And so you could lecture me in peace.”

“And that. Your actions nearly cost you your life. You must _think_ , _da'len_.”

“I didn't know.” Mahanon said miserably, knowing that was never an excuse with Solas. “Will I have to live as a woman now?”

Solas looked irritated. “Of course not. The Iron Bull's Lieutenant has never touched a drop of _banal asha_ , but he is still a man, is he not?”

“Of course he is!”

“Then why wouldn't you be?”

Mahanon shut his mouth at that, ashamed.

“You are frightened. I understand. But you must use your mind, which is so much more open to the possibility of being wrong than your fellow elves. Learn, as you have begun to learn. Change what you can, and accept all else.”

“I will try,” Mahanon said, and he meant it. “But you must have had a reason for being here when I woke up. Or was it just to lecture me?”

“See, you are perceptive, when you choose to be. I have spoken to the alchemist, and also a surgeon. They both agree with me. Your uterus must be removed.”

“What?”

“The surgeon will have to make an incision in your abdomen, and remove all the dead organs. It cannot be helped, _da'len_. I cannot heal them.”

“That's what _banal asha_ does?”

“If taken for too long, yes. Your Keeper should have known this.”

Mahanon sighed. “She never mentioned it. I doubt she would have intentionally allowed me to poison myself.”

Solas merely grunted at that. He had a terrible opinion of most Dalish elves, Keepers especially.

“How far back will the Inquisition's cause be set back by this?”

“What an interesting way to ask how long it will take you to recover,” Solas said blandly. “I imagine you will have to stay in bed for several days, and then be placed on desk duty. You will have to learn to delegate.”

Mahanon groaned, but didn't bother complain. Even if he hadn't known, he'd brought this on himself.

“Then, I will teach you how to make _vhenan'ara_ , and you will follow my directions exactly.”

“I will,” he sighed. “When is the surgery?”

“Two days from now, once you are no longer dehydrated from purging. Until then, stay in bed, or I will bind you there myself.”

“Yes, Solas.”

“Good.” Solas got up then, and moved to the door. “It will be alright, _da'len_. You were foolish, but not irreparably so. Someone will be in with tea for you shortly.”

xxx

Mahanon was woken some time in the early hours of the morning, when Dorian slid into bed with him. Dorian was drunk and desperate, his hands finding their way under Mahanon's clothes, his mouth pressed against Mahanon's own, stinking of wine and ale. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be having sex or not, but considering he was going to have surgery in the next few days, probably not. He turned the attention back to Dorian instead, using what he'd learned to bring Dorian release.

After that, Dorian pressed his face to Mahanon's chest and wept in silent sobs. He was speaking Tevene, and Mahanon understood nothing of what he said, except for _amatus_ and various expletives Dorian had taught him. He finally fell asleep on Mahanon's shoulder after he had wept himself out.

Mahanon was certain that they scandalized the servant that came in to deliver Mahanon his tea. Usually Mahanon preferred to do any tasks in his quarters himself, and the servants only came in to clean when he was on the road. Thus, while everyone knew that he and Dorian were together, they'd never actually been caught in bed together. Especially not when Dorian was clearly in a drunken sleep and looked completely debauched. It was too late to pretend to be asleep, so Mahanon gave the serving woman a weak smile.

She looked horrified. Mahanon sighed (that was all he seemed to do, of late,) and took the tray from the woman and set it down on the bedside table. “Thank you.”

The woman all but ran from the room.

Mahanon smoothed Dorian's hair a little, deciding to be polite and _not_ tell Dorian he drooled when he was drunk, and drank his tea.

It was a good thing that Mahanon kept a bucket so close to the bed, because when Dorian woke he was violently ill. Most of what he threw up was alcohol, and Mahanon wondered just how much he'd had to drink. They'd never spoken about Dorian's drinking, though Mahanon knew he drank often and deeply. It had been the worst after the confrontation with his father, and again when Mahanon had returned Dorian's amulet. But then it had gotten better, and with all his own issues, and how well Dorian had taken everything, well, Mahanon didn't want to push. But if Dorian was going to drink himself to illness every time something went wrong, they probably would need to speak of it sooner or later. But not right now, not until after the surgery at the very least. It would probably result in a fight, and Mahanon just couldn't handle that right now.

After Dorian was finished being sick, he took himself and the bucket off to the privy, to clean up. It was a testament to how much he'd drank that he couldn't just banish the contents with magic, and that only made Mahanon worry more. But he sat there and drank more tea, and waited for Dorian to return.

He did, about an hour later, still looking a little green around the eyes, but he'd had a bath and a change of clothes, and looked a good deal more put together than before. He sat down on the bed, gingerly, not quite looking at Mahanon.

“I am sorry, for my behavior last night. It was wrong of me.”

“I'm not angry.”

“You should be.”

Mahanon gave a short laugh that was more of a cry than anything. “Should I? You are dealing with things you'd never have to deal with if you had a proper man as your lover.”

_That_ made Dorian angry. “And this 'proper man' you speak of, would he never get ill? Never become wounded? He may as well be a construct, too, for he'd never be interesting. I do not care lightly, _amatus_ , so do not assume that I regret choosing you.”

It was the first Dorian had spoken about there being more between them than just sex. “So – you – what _am_ I to you then?”

Dorian looked pained. “I don't do relationships. Ever. I - must you really make me say it? _Te amo_ , _amatus._ I cannot say it in the common tongue. Not yet. I am sorry.”

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan._ I will not ask it of you.”

“What did Solas tell you? He refused to speak of your condition with me, beyond insisting that you would not die.”

Mahanon allowed the change of subject, though it was a topic he was loathe to discuss. “I am to have surgery tomorrow. They will be removing – there is no delicate way to say it.” Mahanon let his eyes travel down to his abdomen.

“Ah.”

“It will take me weeks to recover,” he said bitterly. “I've no idea what to tell everyone.”

“Tell them you have been ill, and that upon consulting Solas, needed surgery. They can decide amongst themselves for what.”

“You are brilliant,” Mahanon declared, pulling Dorian in for a kiss. His lover's lips were rough and chapped, as were Mahanon's own, since he hadn't put on his customary make up in days.

“The best lies are ones you let others tell for you. And I am a _very_ good liar.”

“Mmm. It's one of your qualities.”

That made Dorian laugh. “And what pray tell, are my other qualities?”

“Hm...” Mahanon pretended to think. “Well, you _are_ very pretty.”

“I am.”

“And your tongue is quite skilled. You weren't boasting about that.”

“It is.”

“I'm certain you must have other features, but I just can't seem to name them right now.” Mahanon said wickedly.

“You utter _prat_.”

xxx

Solas made sure that the surgery was a private affair, arranging for it to be done in a private alcove near Mahanon's rooms. The room had been cleaned, but had yet to be assigned a purpose, and together Solas and Dorian ordered the servants with an efficiency that surprised Mahanon. He knew Dorian had slaves, but he hadn't ever expected Solas to be ordering anyone about. The surgeon was an extremely competent woman, who didn't look at all phased that she was about to operate on the Inquisitor.

The surgery itself was – difficult. Solas gave him a concoction that made everything feel very far away, so even though he was technically awake, he couldn't really focus. He could still _feel_ though. There was a piece of leather between his teeth, and Dorian's hands on his shoulders. He knew he experienced the entire surgery, but when Dorian asked him about it later, all he could remember was _cold._

It might have taken hours, or days, for all he was aware. He did recognize the green wash of Solas' magic across him near the end, taking some of the pain away. He might have blacked out after that. In any case, he swam back to awareness in bed, with Dorian sitting in a chair beside him, reading.

“Is it over?” He asked, surprised at how dry his throat was.

“You're awake. Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.”

There were worry lines around Dorian's eyes that made Mahanon sad. He still thought it would be easier for everyone if Dorian was involved with a different kind of man, but he knew better than to bring it up. He took the water from Dorian and sipped it gratefully, noting in the back of his mind how he was propped up in a pseudo sitting position, a veritable mountain of pillows at his back.

“How long – did Solas tell you how long it would take to recover?”

“You're to stay in bed today. He wants you to try and get up and walk around a bit tomorrow, but you're on bed rest for the better part of the week. Then he mentioned you might try some light work, but nothing strenuous for at least three weeks. And no sex for six weeks.”

“ _Six weeks?_ I can't be laid up that long!” And that was not even thinking about what six weeks of no sex would do to his relationship with Dorian. Sex was practically all they _did_.

Dorian was angry now. “You can and you will. Honestly, you don't have to do everything yourself. You've got a whole group of people, myself included, who could go out and act in your name if you think it necessary. You have a whole _army_. You almost died!”

“And what is going to happen when word gets out that the inquisitor is sick? For good or ill, people seem to place an enormous responsibility on my shoulders. They depend on me to produce miracles for them!”

“Josephine will deal with the rumors.” Dorian said firmly. “That is what she does, and she does it well. Plus, you know as well as I that it takes weeks to do anything around here. Even our expeditions take days or weeks of time. Both the Iron Bull and Cassandra have led before they deferred to you. Have a meeting with them when you are more well, and tell them what you would like done. They can take a group out and see it is done, I am sure of it.”

“You have all the answers.”

“I am very smart.” Dorian said firmly, but his grip was tight and worried on Mahanon's hand.

“Thank you, for being here with me.”

“Of course.”

xxx

Walking was hell. Dorian was there to help him out of bed, help him take slow, painful steps around the room. Mahanon grit his teeth and gripped his stomach where fresh bandages wrapped around his torso. They'd had to cut into him to pull out the dead organs, leaving him with a three inch wound on his lower abdomen. It was probably going to scar.

He hadn't had his monthly bleed since he was fourteen, and even then it had only been five or six times before stopping completely. But he bled now. The surgeon said he would continue to bleed as he healed, and that it wasn't life threatening, but rather his body shedding all the dead tissue. Mahanon thought it was disgusting. He didn't talk to Dorian about it, went to the privy and changed his absorbent linings alone, and slept in his bed alone. He didn't want Dorian to be in bed with him while he bled everywhere. It was humiliating.

He leaned heavily on Dorian after his second time around the room. His lover was a mage, but he was strong. Dorian took his weight, and eased him back down into bed.

“Here, let me.”

He placed one hand against Mahanon's abdomen and the other on his staff, and his hand glowed green. The pain abruptly eased, and Mahanon laid back with a gasp.

“I thought you couldn't heal.”

Dorian smiled bitterly. “Solas made me practice. I can't really do anything except help your pain, for this specific injury. I might be able to cure a migraine or something, but I'm not a healer. Solas was muttering about my energy alignment the entire time.”

“Well, I appreciate it, thank you. I feel so useless.”

“Only two more days of bed rest, and then you can have all the glorious clerical duties a leader could ask for.”

Mahanon scowled. He _could_ read, both common and dwarven runes, but he hadn't had to use those skills very often before he'd become Inquisitor. His handwriting was terrible, he hated using a quill and ink pot, and reading was an exercise in frustration. He hadn't told Dorian. But there was no better time than the present. Dorian loved books, and they had nothing better to do.

“You know you can put in a requisition for any books you think the library needs. I know little about books, and I trust your judgment.”

“Really? I don't want to take advantage of our relationship.”

“What's the point of being Inquisitor if I can't get nice things for my lover?”

Dorian smiled. “Well, I _do_ deserve nice things. Fine, if you insist. But why do you ask? You rarely bring up books.”

“I was...hoping, since we've got all this time, that you could help me with my reading?”

Mahanon was worried that Dorian would look down on him but instead, he smiled. “Of course. Reading is one of life's greatest pleasures. It was my escape as a child. You wouldn’t believe the gay erotica one can find in the seedier parts of Minratheous.”

Mahanon blushed. “If I'd had that sort of book I might have had more incentive to read.”

Dorian grinned wickedly. “Maybe I will write you something to give you incentive.”

“We should probably work on my letters. Right now I have to sound everything out. Not a problem for sign posts or something, but it causes problems when I have to read a stack of documents. Honestly Josephine usually handles the paperwork because her penmanship is so nice.”

“And do you want to work on that as well?”

“Can't I just dictate? Kings dictate.”

Dorian smiled. “A truly great man can pen his own letters, trusting not to the words of others. One of my favorite tutors told me that. I was his favorite student. Of course that may have been because we spent more than half our lessons in bed, but I digress.”

“You slept with your teachers?”

“Oh yes. Teachers, fellow students, the stable boy, pretty much anyone who would have me.” Dorian's face darkened then. “That – does that bother you?”

“Are you sleeping with anyone else now?”

“No!”

“Then I don't care. Does it bother you that you're one of the only people I've ever slept with? You're certainly the first to make it enjoyable.”

“I don't mind that at all,” Dorian practically purred, soothed for now. “I've enjoyed teaching you.”

“Hm...with all this knowledge you've acquired, I don't suppose you know a way I could please you without putting too much _stress_ on my body, do you?”

“Oh, I think I could come up with a few things...”

xxx

Mahanon sat carefully in his chair, making sure not to put undue pressure on his abdomen as he re-wrapped the handle of his favorite dagger. Paperwork was all well and good, but he'd done his fill of it over the last three weeks. He was waiting for Solas to give him the all clear for light duty again, and was preparing his weapons for his – hopefully soon – return to training. He probably wouldn't be able to do more than a light sparring, but it would be something. Mahanon had never sat for so long in his life. He was used to being active, whether on the road or in bed. All the inactivity was driving him crazy.

He applied a light glue to the end of the hilt wrap and tucked it into place, then sat the dagger aside to dry. He picked up his second dagger, which he'd re-wrapped yesterday, and pulled over his cleaning kit, oil and whetstone to begin putting the edge back on the blade. The sheathes needed repair as well; the straps needed replacing, and some of the stitching on the sheath itself was coming out. By the time he _could_ go back out in the field, he'd have a full set of new gear.

“You know we have servants for that.” Dorian said, appearing at the head of the stairs with a tray of food.

“I don't trust my weapons to anyone else, you should know that by now.”

“Mmm, I know. It's sexy.”

Mahanon chuckled. “Thank you. I was thinking of polishing your staff, later.” He wiggled his eyes suggestively.

Dorian groaned. “That is the very _first_ joke every Tevinter mage makes. It was terrible then, and it's terrible now.”

“Does that mean you don't want me to?”

“I didn't say that!”

xxx

 

Mahanon slowly recovered, surprised at how helpful everyone was in his recovery. He was so used to having to do everything himself, and having everyone rely on him to make every decision. As it was, he was still asked about his opinion on matters and who they should send where. Cullen took charge of the troops, and Iron Bull and Krem deployed the Chargers, took leadership of Mahanon's allies, and represented the Inquisition in Mahanon's name. He thought there would be more resistance, since each of his allies generally seemed loyal only to him. There was some muttering, and Mahanon strongly suspected Dorian strong armed them into getting along while Mahanon was ill.

By the time Solas cleared him again for vigorous activity, Mahanon had repaired all the armor for all members of their party, and crafted all new weapons for each of them. He'd also gotten in a special order he'd placed for iron bark. He'd carved a ring for Dorian with the symbols of his clan and Dorian's house as was customary for his people, but had yet to give it to Dorian. It hadn't seemed like a good time yet.

The day after Solas cleared him, he sparred against Iron Bull and Casandra all day, determined to regain his lost skills. By the end of the day he was coated with sweat and dirt, and stripped off his shirt. The best part about his potion was that his breasts weren't even as large as Iron Bull's, and they were mostly muscle. Krem and Iron Bull likely knew he was Aqun-Athlok, but neither of them said anything. When they finally stopped for the day, he was exhausted and aching, but it was mostly the good ache that came after exercise.

Dorian was there, leaning against the wall and eating an apple, openly watching him.

“Enjoying the show?”

“Always.”

“Mmhm. I worked really hard today. I might need some help getting clean.”

“Hm. You know, I'm quite experienced in getting clean. And getting dirty again.” Dorian said slyly.

“Go to your room already!” Bull grumbled, “unless you're offering a show?” He sounded particularly hopeful.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you.”

Bull leered at them, and Krem punched him in the shoulder. “Let's go get a drink, Chief.”

“Let's away to your quarters, _amatus._ ”

Others in the castle had to wait on their baths, but through the miracle of dwarven engineering, Tevinter magic, and Mahanon's status, he had indoor plumbing in his suite. Half the time he thought Dorian stayed just for that. He complained bitterly about the lack of facilities elsewhere. The water wasn't heated, as they weren't located above a natural hot spring, but they didn't need to build a fire under the tub, or pre-boil the water, as Dorian could heat it with magic. It was apparently a simple trick that all apprentice mages learned to do.

Dorian started to fill the tub while Mahanon went to his wash basin and wiped off the worst of the dirt and sweat before stripping down and placing his clothes in the basket for the servants. Having servants was still a novelty for Mahanon, but Dorian was helping him adjust. Mahanon strode out into the bathroom where Dorian was sitting in the steaming water, waiting for him. He was propped up against the edge of the tub, gazing hungrily at Mahanon.

“Not to be crude, but can you have sex yet?” Dorian asked, his voice clouded with lust.

“Two weeks,” Mahanon said, “but everything else works just fine.”

Dorian smiled, “I miss eating you out.”

“Mmm, I miss that too. Soon. Until then, I can eat _you_ out.”

“You do have a talented tongue.”

“Well, I learn from the best.”

Mahanon slid into the water, which was the perfect temperature, as usual. Dorian reached for him and they pressed their bodies together, lips meeting, tongues twining around each other. Dorian's hands were everywhere, making up for his reserve in public with unrestricted passion. Today Dorian seemed obsessed with his muscles, running his hands from Mahanon's shoulders, down his torso, squeezing his thighs, and trailing back up, all while ravishing Mahanon's mouth with his own.

“You just had sex this morning,” Mahanon said, when Dorian finally relinquished his mouth.

“And then you took your clothes off and flaunted yourself in front of the entire castle.”

“It was hot out.”

“You knew I'd be watching.”

“That – may have had something to do with it.”

“Then you've only yourself to blame.”

Mahanon chuckled, and busied himself with sucking a mark into Dorian's neck. “I'm supposed to be getting clean, so you can dirty me up.”

“What makes you think I can't do both?”

Mahanon bit Dorian hard enough to make him jump, though not hard enough that he wouldn't like it. “Wash first, then sex.”

Dorian made a disgruntled sound, but agreed, and they both set to scrubbing themselves down with the various soaps Dorian had purchased. Dorian scrubbed his skin with a rough mixture meant to exfoliate the skin, but Mahanon had never needed it. He started to soap up his hair with the lavender scented shampoo he knew Dorian liked, before Dorian made another disgruntled sound and took it away from him.

“Allow me, _amatus_.”

Mahanon settled back against Dorian's chest and let Dorian wash his hair, his talented fingers scrubbing into Mahanon's scalp. It was relaxing and intimate, and Mahanon needed it after four weeks of sleeping apart while he healed. He still wasn't cleared for penetrative sex, but he'd healed enough that he was comfortable sharing a bed with Dorian again. He'd missed the closeness they'd had before the surgery. Waking up to Dorian in his bed this morning, having slow morning sex, even if it had just been Mahanon's mouth on Dorian, had been amazing.

“Ma'arlath, ma vhenan,” he murmured, eyes half closing in pleasure.

“I have missed hearing you say that.”

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” he said softly.

Dorian pressed a kiss to his forehead, right over the diamond of his vallaslin and then said, “enough romantic talk – you're clean.”

“Not for long,” Mahanon grinned wickedly, but ducked under the water to rinse his hair and then stepped out and dried himself off with the fluffy towel Dorian handed him.

Dorian was giving him hungry glances again, so Mahanon toweled off quickly and they all but ran to the bedroom. Mahanon pressed Dorian against the sheets the way he liked, both their bodies still damp from the bath. Dorian laced his hands through Mahanon's, and Mahanon raised them to the top of the bed, gripping tightly as he swung a leg across Dorian's hips to straddle his rapidly growing erection. He ground his hips against Dorian's, eliciting a groan from the other man as he ravished Dorian's mouth and neck.

“I do love it when you're so – focused,” Dorian gasped, when Mahanon bit down on Dorian's most sensitive hotspot between his neck and left shoulder.

Mahanon's reply was to flip him over and slap his ass with just the right amount of force to make Dorian jolt in pleasure, then spread his his cheeks and dive between them, licking from his perineum up to his hole and back.

“You're such a practical learner.”

“I had a very inspiring teacher.”

There was little talking after that, as Mahanon put his tongue to good use, opening Dorian up and eating him out. Apparently not many men in Tevinter were fond of the activity, which was their loss as far as Mahanon was concerned. Dorian was always an expressive lover, but he made the _best_ noises when he was being eaten out.

After Dorian was sufficiently wet, Mahanon worked two fingers into him while Dorian slicked up his own and managed to wring an orgasm from him by rubbing his clit in circles until Mahanon couldn't stand it any more. Mahanon got his revenge by crooking his fingers into Dorian's prostate and making him scream.

When they'd both come down and cleaned themselves off yet again, they lay in bed together, just kissing and touching, enjoying the presence and closeness of the other. There was no urgency to their lovemaking, as neither was ready to go again, but instead, it was an expression of affection.

Finally Mahanon pulled away and opened the drawer to his bedside table, pulling out the small box he'd been putting off giving Dorian. Dorian looked surprised at the presence of the gift, and Mahanon hesitated before saying,

“I know you don't like speaking about relationships. It's just – with everything – with my gender, and with the surgery and the recovery, you've been so amazing. I don't know anyone else who would have treated me the way you did. I just wanted to show you I noticed, and I appreciated it. So -”

He handed the box over, suddenly terrified at Dorian's possible reaction. Dorian unwrapped it, and was silent for a long moment, just staring down at it.

“You don't have to wear it, you could hang it around your neck, or not at all. You don't have to – I mean I hope you will but I -”

Dorian looked up and Mahanon stopped.

“It's beautiful, Mahanon. Is this ironbark?”

“Yes. I had it sent from my clan.”

“I've never-” Dorian swallowed, and then seemed to come to a decision. “Yes, yes of course I'll wear it.”

Mahanon was relieved. “Oh good. I thought perhaps it was too much too soon and I just -”

Dorian cut him off with a searing kiss to the lips. “Men in Tevinter do not exchange rings, but when they are promised to someone, they sometimes wear a ring on their right ring finger. Would you do the honors?”

Mahanon nodded somewhat frantically and picked up the ring with trembling hands. He slid it on Dorian's finger – it fit perfectly. Mahanon thought he might cry.

“I love you, you know,” Dorian said, kissing him again. It was the first time he'd ever said it in the trade tongue.

“I love you too, you magnificent bastard.”

And then, as with all things involving Dorian, they celebrated well into the night with wine and passion. Mahanon had never been happier.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone cares, the potion titles roughly translate to "not woman," and "heart's desire."
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life!!


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